How's The Diet?
by What's'SupWitChu
Summary: Another Prompt Meme Fill! Prompt: When Sherlock asks about Mycroft's diet he's not trying to snark or tease - he's genuinely worried. At one point in time Mycroft had an eating disorder which actually put him in the hospital - ever since Sherlock's been asking about his brother's diet and seeing if he's eating enough. Trigger Warnings: Anorexia. Angst. Eventual Mystrade.
1. Chapter 1: The Past

**A/N: Hey guys! Another fill here. This one is quite anxiety, and as I said in the summary there is a trigger warning for discussion and somewhat graphic description of an eating disorder. Although there will be Mystrade in this story (starting chapter 2) the main relationship focus is the brotherly love between Mycroft and Sherlock. I hope you enjoy!**

**Reviews would be much appreciated :)**

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**Chapter 1: The Past **

It started off as a few skipped meals at first because of some injudicious comments which wounded his self-confidence a little. Mycroft Holmes could walk around with his head held high, his intimidating glances and no-nonsense posture, but he was still an 18 year old boy trying to make his way in the world, and if they couldn't take him seriously now because of the way he looked then they would never take him seriously in the world of politics. When he'd gone to university Mycroft had thought the tormenting would stop, but no, he and his peers where in more competition than ever before and that meant buttons were pressed – childishly, with the hope of causing a reaction.

However, one day in November Mycroft was getting dressed in his room when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and turned to look, pinching at the flesh on his stomach. All he could see was unnecessary fat seeping over the top of his trousers. Maybe those people hadn't been cruelly jesting at all, maybe they had just been observing. It made Mycroft feel sick. He'd always thought he'd been tall and fairly lean but apparently his brain had deceived him with this perception. His mind was supposed to be Mycroft's only true ally, and now it appeared even that have failed him.

He was too distraught and brainwashed to see that his size was perfectly healthy for his age and height, all he could see was overwhelming imperfection and he needed to make it go away.

So, Mycroft stopped eating all together. He would drink tea to keep him going on most days, and on the days were he felt like he might faint he allowed himself to indulge in some crackers or something equally as bland with few calories. He started to notice the effects after only a couple of weeks, and it made him smile when he could actually see his ribcage actually starting to show. That would show them; he wasn't fat, he was completely in control of his body image, but he still had a far way to go yet.

No one else seemed to care or take notice of the dramatic change in Mycroft. He couldn't understand why the perturbing comments still continued, and so he buried himself even deeper into his studies until he became somewhat of a hermit, only leaving to sneak in and sit quietly at the back of his classes. He had no true friends to tell to stop, but Mycroft probably wouldn't have listened anyway. No, he was in complete control.

That was the way he stayed, until the Christmas holidays came along and Mycroft went home for the first time since leaving.

* * *

Sherlock had been excited all week. He would never admit it of course, and whenever Mummy caught him out for it he would stick his nose up in the air and pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about. The truth of the matter, however, was that he could not wait for Mycroft to return for the Christmas period. They hadn't seen each other in so long and 11 year old Sherlock felt like Mycroft was the only one in the world who truly understood him. He'd been a bit lonely without his brother to play deductions with, or even just to bicker with. He wouldn't tell Mycroft that right out though, of course.

When the day of Mycroft's return finally came, Sherlock was in his room trying to distract his eager mind with an experiment involving numerous types of dirt. When he heard the front door open to signal Mycroft's return, the younger boy immediately dashed from his room and hopped down the stairs two at a time. Mycroft had his back to him as he closed the door so Sherlock took the moment's opportunity to put on his face of nonchalance and tried to appear bored. When Mycroft did finally turn to him Sherlock's eyes flew wide open with alarm.

"Hello, brother-mine" Mycroft smiled, and Sherlock was sure he was simply trying to ignore his startled expression.

Mycroft looked so…different, and not in a good way. He was thin, far too thin. His face looked gaunt and Sherlock could see bones poking out from all over the place.

"You're not well." Sherlock stated, as for him that was the most obvious conclusion.

"I'm perfectly alright" Mycroft tried to assure him, but Sherlock simply gave him a calculating glare making it very clear that he did not believe his brother. "Where are Mummy and Father?" the elder Holmes asked, evidently trying to steer the conversation away from himself.

"In the kitchen, Mummy wanted to prepare a nice meal" Sherlock explained.

He noted how Mycroft seemed to grow paler – if that was possible – and gulped with an expression of dread.

"I should…I should go and see them" Mycroft claimed and all but brushed past his brother.

Sherlock looked after him for a moment and for once, he almost wished Mycroft had seen his look of concern.

* * *

Sherlock may have been 11 but he was certainly not stupid. He aspired to be as intelligent as Mycroft one day, but as far as other children his age Sherlock was well above them in terms of brightness. He knew something was seriously wrong with his brother and he was determined to find out what – Mycroft would have done the same for him.

Other than experimenting, Sherlock was good at research and soon after Mycroft had gone off to see his parents, Sherlock had gone to his father's study to raid the bookshelf. Given Mycroft's symptoms and his clear discomfort at the mentioning of a meal, Sherlock had one sound theory, but he felt he still needed some more evidence.

As they sat down for dinner that night, Sherlock did not miss the worried looks his parents shot each other as they watched Mycroft push his food around the plate a little before taking very small and hesitant bites. Mummy tried her best to keep the mood light by asking Mycroft about his studies and what his new roommates were like. Sherlock could tell he was lying about his 'quiet' cotenants but that wasn't the biggest concern right now.

Mummy and Father soon got into a private discussion about the new neighbours, and so Sherlock watched Mycroft discreetly out the corner of his eye as he ate his own food. He saw his older brother compacting some of it together so it looked more touched, and he even managed to slip some into the napkin on his lap.

Eventually, Mycroft placed his knife and fork together on his plate to signify that he was finished. Their mother looked over at the still more than half-full plate, her brow creased with worry.

"Are you sure you don't want any more, darling? You've left quite a lot."

"No, I'm quite full thank you, Mummy. I had a rather large lunch." Mycroft insisted with a smile plastered on his face.

"Liar" Sherlock muttered under his breath as he messed around with some peas. He wasn't aware he'd said anything out loud until he realised the rest of his family were staring at him.

"What was that, Sherlock?" Mycroft challenged.

Sherlock, realising there was no backing out of it now and fed up of everyone tiptoeing around the situation, set his own cutlery down and gave Mycroft a poignant look.

"I said you are lying." Sherlock spoke louder and much more firmly that time.

"Sherlock…" his Father started in a warning tone.

"No, I know you see it too!" Sherlock said turning to his parents. "You can't just go on pretending everything is alright. Mycroft needs help!"

"Sherlock…" Mycroft started, though his voice was laced with an underlying panic. "I told you before, there is absolutely nothing…"

"An eating disorder." Sherlock said abruptly, turning back to Mycroft. "That's what you have, don't you? Anorexia I would say by the looks of it."

There was a deafening moment of silence which followed. It was shattered a few moments later when Mycroft brusquely got up from his seat and glowered at Sherlock.

"You don't know anything. You stupid little boy" the older Holmes seethed before striding out of the room.

Another uncomfortable silence followed. Mummy eventually let out something which sounded like a sob and them quickly got up to gather the dishes as a distraction and going to wash them at the sink.

"Sherlock, that was very thoughtless of you" Father said, but there was no real scolding behind it.

"But you know I'm right!" Sherlock argued.

"Perhaps, but Mummy and I were going to broach the subject at the right moment. It's a very delicate matter and now Mycroft is upset..." Sherlock looked down at his lap then and sniffed – his eyes were beginning to sting but he couldn't let his father see. "I know you're worried…" his father continued sympathetically. "But, just give Mycroft some time, eh? We don't want to make him feel pressured into anything."

Sherlock nodded even though he did not agree at all. _What if Mycroft doesn't have any time?_

* * *

Later on in the evening and Mycroft still had not emerged from his bedroom where he had hauled himself up after storming out the kitchen. Sherlock supposed he deserved to have been yelled at – he certainly wasn't known for his tact – but he wasn't going to apologise for letting out what he knew to be the truth.

Still, he had been looking forward to seeing Mycroft again for so long that he didn't want to just waste the time they had, so he went up to his brother's room and knocked on the door before waiting patiently – if that didn't say he was making an effort Sherlock wasn't sure what would. He wasn't really surprised when there was no reply, so he tired calling out to Mycroft instead.

"Myc, can we play deductions? I've been practicing whilst you were away, I'm getting really good at it now…"

There was still no answer , but Sherlock was determined, though he was also growing impatient.

"Mycroft?" he asked, but not even waiting to hear if there was a reply as he twisted the door handle and slowly opened the door.

The apprehension Sherlock had felt was soon replaced with pure terror at the sight which greeted him. Mycroft was crumpled in a heap on the floor. His shirt was removed and Sherlock could see every single rib, every vertebrae of his spine, and a stomach which was completely concave. Sherlock feared he might have been sick if the adrenaline had not taken over.

"Mycroft!" he exclaimed as he rushed to his brother's side. The older Holmes was completely unconscious and his breathing was shallow. "Mummy! Daddy!" Sherlock cried. He cradled his brother's head in his lap as he waited.

_Please don't die, Myc. Please don't die._

* * *

Mycroft had been unconscious for two days. Sherlock hadn't wanted to leave his side but his parents had forced him to go to school, assuring him they would take turns to stay with Mycroft so he wouldn't be alone.

The sight of the IV drip poking out of Mycroft's arm scared Sherlock to no end – that could be the only thing keeping his brother alive right now. The doctor had informed them it was likey that Mycroft hadn't eaten in nearly 3 weeks, and his body had been under this strain and abuse for some time.

Sherlock had always thought he and Mycroft had told each other everything, but apparently that was no longer the case. He hated to think about all the times Mycroft had been there for him if he was ever having trouble, and yet his big brother had had to suffer alone.

One day after school Sherlock returned to the hospital to learn that Mycroft had woken up and the younger Holmes couldn't be more relieved. He bounced into Mycroft's room to find his brother sat up in bed looking very tired, but he was conscious and that was the main thing.

"Hello, brother-mine" he said with an exhausted smile. Sherlock tried to smile back, but found for some reason he couldn't. "Mummy, would you leave us for a moment?" Mycroft requested.

Once they were alone, Mycroft weakly stretched out his arm and motioned for Sherlock to take his hand. Sherlock did so a little hesitantly at first, worried that Mycroft would shout at him again.

"I apologise for calling you stupid. You are of exceptional intelligence for your age, and I am very proud of you." Mycroft assured him.

"Thanks" Sherlock replied, although it was not the most concerning thing on his mind. "You are the stupid one for trying to deny anything was wrong. You should have told us…you should have told me."

"You are right." Mycroft replied, somewhat to Sherlock's surprise. "I was a fool to ever think I was in control of this. I care too much about what people think of me, and I must confess it has clouded my judgement."

Sherlock nodded trying to supress his rising anger at the people who'd made his brother feel this was a necessity. His took a deep breath to calm himself and then looked Mycroft squarely in the eyes.

"I'm going to help you through this, brother, I promise" he said, and gave Mycroft's fingers a tight squeeze.

Mycroft nodded and attempted a weak smile.

"Thank you" he replied as a tear escaped down his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2: The Present

**A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for all the favourites, follows, and review! A quick update because I am in a serious phase of procrastination right now, so here is the result! Mystrade starts here and be aware of mentions of vomiting and bulimia as well in this chapter. **

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are highly appreciated xx**

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**Chapter 2: The Present **

Mycroft fiddled incessantly with his tie in the back of the car on the way to the restaurant, but that wasn't his biggest concern – big being the right adjective in his mind. He was seeing a strain on the buttons of his waistcoat that wasn't even there. He'd worn a jacket in the hopes of concealing the ghastly sight of his bulging stomach despite the fact it was the middle of summer and he felt like he might overheat. He kept telling himself everything was fine, he was a perfectly healthy size, he hadn't relapsed in years…but then he didn't have a potential partner to worry about back then.

Gregory Lestrade was an intriguing man in Mycroft's opinion despite Sherlock's constant mocking of the man's intelligence. Anyone who could put up with Sherlock's distinct lack of social skills and often lack of common curtesy was a good man in Mycroft's books. Mycroft had always found the detective inspector a kind-hearted, handsome man, and he thought Gregory was intelligent even if Sherlock did not.

They had met when it first became apparent to Mycroft that Lestrade was going to become a somewhat permanent fixture in Sherlock's life. Just like John, Mycroft had whisked the Inspector away to discuss his intentions, and it was perhaps Lestrade's honesty and obvious sense of loyalty which had drawn Mycroft too him. Eventually their meetings had become less about Sherlock and more just general conversation – not many people could say they'd experienced one of those with Mycroft Holmes.

An unspoken bond began to form with the couple, until one day Gregory appeared to ask out of the blue if Mycroft would like to have a proper dinner with him sometime. Mycroft had blurted out the yes response before he'd even thought about it – a very unusual occurrence on his part.

He was now utterly regretting his decision. What could Gregory possibly find attractive about him anyway? He was fat, pale, freckly, and had on more than one occasion been informed that he had no heart. Gregory was such a wonderful man, surely he deserved better? Mycroft decided he would do the decent thing and have dinner with the inspector this once as it was too late to cancel, but then he would gently suggest that they just remain friends. If they were to ever enter a relationship Gregory would expect things to get more intimate, and Mycroft was far too embarrassed about his body image to let that happen.

When they arrived at the restaurant it took Mycroft a few moments to find the will power to exit the car. He made sure that his jacket was positioned just so before he entered the restaurant, but he still wasn't satisfied.

Greg had already arrived and was in discussion with the waiter when Mycroft went to take his seat at the table. The waiter nodded once before going off and Greg turned to smile at Mycroft and it made the politician's heart flutter – _maybe I do have one after all?_

"I hope you don't mind but I ordered us some wine. You prefer white, right?" Greg asked.

"That is correct" Mycroft said with a small smile. Although Sherlock insisted the inspector didn't observe the small details, he sure seemed to remember them.

After brief chatter about their days the pair turned to the menu. Mycroft's stomach did a small flip with anticipation. He hadn't eaten anything that day – out of pure nervousness, he'd told himself – and the thought of actually having to consume something in front of Gregory didn't sit well with him either.

"I think I'll just have a salad" Mycroft announced, not even bothering to look at the other things on offer.

Greg raised a surprised eyebrow. "Are you sure? I think I might have the steak. Although, I probably shouldn't…"

"Why? You have a wonderful physique" Mycroft blurted out and then immediately snapped his mouth shut, looking mortified with himself.

To his relief, Greg merely brushed it off with a light chuckle. "Thank you. Are you sure you just want a salad though?"

"Yes, that would be sufficient." Mycroft tried to assure him. "I had a lunch meeting at work you see…"

"Ah, okay, fair enough then" Greg responded in acceptance and Mycroft could have let out a sigh of relief.

The politician was surprised just how easy conversation with Gregory seemed to flow. He'd never felt so comfortable around anyone and he almost forgot about his weight concerns until their food finally arrived.

Mycroft picked up his fork and started to push things around the plate. He should have specified no dressing…and he shouldn't have drunk that wine or let Gregory coax him into those bread rolls. It was all just unwanted and certainly unneeded calories.

"Are you alright?" Greg's concerned voice broke into his thoughts.

"Yes, my apologies" Mycroft shook his head dismissively. "I was just… thinking about something I must do tomorrow."

"Okay…" Greg responded a little hesitantly, but decided not to push the matter further.

Mycroft looked down at his plate the whole time he ate – he couldn't bare the look of disgust he was anticipating to see on Gregory's face. He made sure to try and take small bites, chewing each one systematically and numerous amounts of times before swallowing. However, before he knew it Mycroft realised his plate was completely empty and he felt ashamed of himself.

The politician made a point of dabbing his mouth with his napkin before placing it on the table.

"That was most excellent" he commented with what he hoped to be a convincing smile. "If you would excuse me for one moment…"

"Of course" Greg replied as he finished his own meal.

Mycroft went straight into the toilets and checked very cautiously first that he was completely alone. He'd only done this a few times before because he hated the sensation it gave him and he could barely stand the smell, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The elder Holmes locked himself in one of the cubicles and knelt down before the toilet bowl. He manoeuvred his finger down his throat and a few moments later he was gagging as everything he'd just eaten emptied out into the water in front of him.

* * *

Sherlock was bored. Ever since Lestrade has started seeing his brother he could barely stand to be around the pair of them and that meant the number of cases he accepted had significantly decreased. They'd only been casually dating for three weeks but Sherlock didn't even want to think about what they could be doing with each other – it was vile and inhumane.

The younger Holmes was sat in his chair plucking at the strings of his violin whilst John tried to read the newspaper. Sherlock knew he was being irritating and he didn't much care – he needed John to suggest something for him to do.

He immediately became more alert when he heard the front door open and someone began to make their way up the stairs. He recognised the pattern of the footfalls to belong to Mycroft, but something was off – he could tell. He hadn't spoken to his brother in a while – only via text – and he sensed something must have happened in that time that he wasn't aware of.

Sure enough, when Mycroft entered their living room a few moments later it become apparent even to John – who immediately folded his paper away - that the elder Holmes was a little out of sorts. Mycroft looked a little paler and he was leaning on his umbrella more than usual. Sherlock also noted he'd lost a few pounds – it perhaps wouldn't be obvious to others like John but Sherlock knew his brother well.

"Good evening" Mycroft stated politely. "Sherlock, I was wondering if you would consider taking a case for me…"

"I don't know" Sherlock replied as he turned back to his violin. "Will you be as light-headed and gooey eyed as Lestrade currently is?"

Mycroft shifted a little awkwardly and looked down at his feet. "I do not expect so. Although, I am enjoying my time with Gregory…"

"Well, that was a bad start to your convincing" Sherlock replied with a sarcastic smile and started plucking at the strings once more.

Mycroft sighed deeply. "Sherlock, please…"

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked with his usual abruptness as he stopped playing.

"Fine" Mycroft said a little quicker than he probably should have and without his usual annoyance at being asked – if anything he sounded scared.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly. "I am not inclined to believe you."

Mycroft's eyes widened incredulously. "Then don't. I don't care!" he said bitterly and stormed out of the room much to the surprise of John, but not so much for Sherlock.

"Why do you always do that?" John asked. "It's clearly a sensitive subject and it's like you're just out to upset him. Frankly, it's petty; Mycroft is a fine weight for…"

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed as he jumped up from his chair and started to pace the room. "But he doesn't see that…"

John frowned. "Sorry, I don't understand…"

Sherlock sighed – _I wonder what it's like to have an ordinary brain? _

"I don't ask about Mycroft's diet because I want to poke fun at him. If I wanted to do that I'd comment on his nose…"

"Sherlock…"

"I ask him because…" he paused and sighed again, but this time because he knew he was going to feel embarrassed. "…because I am concerned" he muttered.

"Concerned? I thought Mycroft might have actually lost a few pounds… "John commented.

"You did notice?" Sherlock asked, and the doctor nodded. "So, it is as I had thought."

"And what's that exactly?" John pressed.

Sherlock took a seat in his chair again and looked completive with his hands balanced together on his chin.

"John, my brother has had an eating disorder since he was eighteen." Sherlock told him straight out and John's eyes widened with disbelief. "Anorexia, although I've suspected for a while that it could be bulimia as well…"

"That's…" John shook his head repeatedly. "I should have realised."

"His last relapse was before you knew him, about five years ago I think. His relapses usually occur when something new and possibly quite overwhelming comes into his life."

"He's just started dating Greg" John realised.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I believe that could have triggered his lack of self-worth again. He starts to over-think things and it just becomes too much for him."

"Maybe I should talk to him, as a doctor" John suggested.

"No, Mycroft hasn't responded well to doctors or therapists in the past." Sherlock informed him. "I am the only one who has ever managed to get through to him. I… I was the one who first realised what was wrong with him." He knew he was growing distant as the memory came hurtling back like an unwanted nightmare. "I was eleven…I found him collapsed on his bedroom floor…he was just skin and bone."

"I'm sorry" John said sympathetically. "That sounds awful."

Sherlock snapped out of his trance as he once again jumped up and grabbed his coat, pulling it on roughly.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"To see my brother" Sherlock stated. "I can't ever see him like that again. I won't."

The flow of his coat was soon making a swift trail behind him before John could say another word.

* * *

Mycroft had gone to his office after his minor dispute with Sherlock. He knew he had messed up royally with the way he had reacted and no doubt Sherlock already knew that he had slipped back into old habits. He felt almost guilty because he understood that on such rare occasions his brother only wanted to help, but Sherlock could never really comprehend the hold it took over him, and it took a lot of willpower to be able to let go.

He was fully aware that what he was doing was bad but he was really starting to become attached to Gregory and he didn't want to disappoint him. The detective had made some subtle hints he would like to take their relationship to the next level, but Mycroft had always managed to charm his way out of it. He knew that Gregory would soon get bored, and that was the last thing he wanted, but Mycroft felt that his body was not yet at the standard that his new partner deserved.

When Mycroft arrived home that evening he knew Sherlock was waiting inside for him, as his brother had put his doorknocker on a slant – it was a sort of joke between them. The elder Holmes actually contemplated finding somewhere else to go, but he knew he would have to face his brother's wrath sometime.

Taking a deep breath Mycroft entered his home, and after placing down his case and taking off his coat, headed to his study to find Sherlock waiting for him as he suspected.

Sherlock stood up from the chair which he'd been lounging in and looked his brother directly in the eyes.

"How's the diet?" he asked seriously.

Mycroft shook his head, but he was ungratefully aware of the tears already streaming down his face.

"It's not fine." He replied, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's not fine at all."

Moments later and he had his brother's arms encircled around him as Sherlock held him close, and the elder Holmes cried into his little brother's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3: The Future

**A/N: Hey guys! So I have just had the urge all day to finish this story, so here we are XD I'm aware Sherlock and Mycroft are very out of character, but I hope that doesn't ruin it for you. Thank you so much for reading this story and for your lovely reviews :) xx**

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**Chapter 3: The Future **

After Mycroft finally started to calm down Sherlock managed to coax him into the sitting room and placed him on the sofa. Sherlock then went to make tea to give Mycroft a few minutes alone to regain his composure. When the younger Holmes returned, beverages in hand, Mycroft still looked as distraught and frightened as before, but he had at least stopped crying. Despite the eating disorder Sherlock had always viewed his brother as an impenetrable fortress, and to see him in tears was enough to make Sherlock himself want to break. However, he couldn't, because it was his turn now to be the encouraging one.

Sherlock handed Mycroft a cup and the elder Holmes tried to offer a smile of gratitude, but it was very feeble. Sherlock sat down beside his brother and took a sip of tea before placing the cup down on the table and turning to face Mycroft fully.

"I take it your new relationship with Lestrade is what has caused this sudden relapse?" he asked. He had learned years ago that there was no time to be too delicate, and being rather forceful was the only way to get Mycroft to listen.

"Yes" Mycroft replied quietly as he looked down helplessly into his cup. "I…I should have just broke it off after the first dinner like I intended, but I like Gregory so much… in fact I fear I might even-"

"-Let's not get into that now" Sherlock quickly interrupted. He didn't want to hear anything that might scar him for life. "The point is your self-esteem is lacking again. We've been over this a hundred times before, Mycroft; you cannot deal with your personal demons this way. You need to _eat_."

"Said the pot to the kettle…" Mycroft mumbled and then took a sip of tea. "And as for dealing with my personal demons, would you prefer if I turned to narcotics instead?" he asked a little mockingly.

Sherlock looked almost startled at his brother's blunt calling out to his own past.

"That's…that's different" the younger Holmes insisted; he didn't want to talk about himself right now. "I took the drugs because I was bored, because my head was cluttered. And when I do eventually eat after a case, I _eat. _You are on the point of starvation."

"I know" Mycroft replied solemnly as he placed his cup down on the table too. "I know, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have brought up the drugs."

"It's alright" Sherlock replied, placing a hand gently on his brother's arm. "I do understand how strong the grip of addiction can be, but you just have to _fight._ You told me from a very young age that caring is not an advantage, and yet you care so much about how others see you that you're hurting yourself."

"Caring is not an advantage." Mycroft maintained. "Look at what it has done to me, and I care too much for Gregory to let him go which is utterly selfish of me."

"Lestrade is not a shallow man, Mycroft, you know that. If he was he would have brushed me aside like everyone else, but he gave me a chance, and now you must give him one too. Lestrade…he is a good man, I trust him, which is not something I can say about many people. He won't cast you away. He helped me a lot with the drugs in the past when I tried to shut you out. He understands and he can help you."

"But…no matter what I can't convince myself I am good enough for him, that I am good enough for anyone."

"Well…" Sherlock said carefully as he withdrew his hand from Mycroft's arm. "Then, I should tell you…because I don't think I've told you before… I wouldn't want anyone else as a big brother."

Mycroft looked at his brother a little shocked. He had always been able to tell if Sherlock was being genuine, and it seemed this was actually one of those times.

"However, if you ever let slip of that to anyone else I will deny this conversation ever took place and I shall never speak to you again."

Mycroft couldn't help but laugh; he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever made such a sound.

"You're the best little brother a man could ask for."

Sherlock gave a small smile, but his heart wasn't really in it – if he was the best he would have made sure Mycroft had made a full recovery years ago, but even if he felt he wanted to sometimes when they fought, Mycroft was the one person he could never give up on.

"Do you see yourself having a future with Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes" Mycroft responded more firmly than he had so far. "I know now that is what I truly want, and the only one getting in the way of that is me."

"Then he should be made aware of the situation," Sherlock encouraged "and it must be you who tells him."

"I know" Mycroft said, suddenly full of determination. "I need to get it over with, I need to see him right away…"

* * *

Greg had been elbow deep in paper work for most of the evening now, and he was determined he wouldn't leave the office until it was done – he couldn't relax with the thought of having to do it in the morning hanging over his head. But that wasn't the thing that was troubling him the most, no, that place went solely to Mycroft.

Greg had deeply enjoyed the time he had spent with Mycroft over the past few weeks, but it saddened him to think that Mycroft could probably not say the same. The elder Holmes always seemed a little distant, like he was hiding something, and at first Greg couldn't quite place it, but he was starting to have his suspicions.

Mycroft Holmes was a truly intriguing, intelligent, and beautiful man in Greg's eyes, and he wondered if sometimes the politician failed to see that. Greg wanted to think that he and Mycroft would be together for the foreseeable future, and so it would become his mission to prove to Mycroft it was okay to be open with him, that if they were going to be in a long relationship they had to show trust in each other. If Mycroft couldn't trust Greg, then it may well break the detective inspector's heart.

He was happy for the interruption of the knock on his office door; however he was not expecting Mycroft to be the one to enter.

"Hello, Gregory." The elder Holmes tried to smile but it was nervous and foreboding.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" Greg asked as he stood from his desk.

He didn't even wait for a reply as he walked around and enveloped Mycroft in a tight hug – an irrational part of him was scared that if he ever let go then the politician would just fade away forever. He could feel Mycroft shaking in his arms, but most disturbingly he could feel just how bony the younger man was. His suspicions were starting to become even more confirmed.

"Gregory, there's something I must tell you." Mycroft announced as he somehow managed to escape the older man's protective grip. "And I must say it now, or else I fear I never will. You must understand this is hard for me…"

"Okay…" Greg replied gently, holding Mycroft's face in his hands and brushing away the tears which had already began to spill. "To be honest…I've been waiting for you to say something."

"Y-you have?" Mycroft asked a little shocked.

Greg removed his hands and took Mycroft's into them instead.

"Yes, up until this point I've had two theories about why you don't want to be…more intimate. Number one, you don't think I'm attractive…"

"That is not, and will never be true" Mycroft desperately tried to reassure him.

"Or number two…" Greg continued, his own tone growing thicker with emotion. "And I think this might be the one…kinda wish it was the other one." He looked into Mycroft's wide eyes. "You don't think _you_ are attractive."

Mycroft let out a shuddery breath and looked down at his almost skeletal trembling hands in Greg's big strong ones. The DI gave them a gentle squeeze of affection, letting Mycroft know that he would wait _– I would wait forever for you._

"That is correct..." Mycroft said his voice distorted as he fought the urge to start crying again. "I…I suffer from an eating disorder and a lack of self-worth. I relapsed recently because I didn't want to disappoint you. You deserve perfection and I don't know if I can give you that."

"You are perfect" Greg said seriously. "Ever since I met you Mycroft I've known, I have known that you are the one I'm supposed to be with. You make me happier than anyone before, and it kills me to think that you don't see that, to think about what you are doing to yourself. Please, let me show you" he requested as he rested his forehead lightly against Mycroft's. "Let me show you how perfect you are."

"Y-you…you will have to patient with me" Mycroft warned him.

"Of course, I would never push you into anything. I would wait a lifetime; we don't ever have to do anything. Just being with you is enough. But still, I would like the chance to prove to you that you are worth more than anything. I'll be there for you every step of the way, whatever you need, just please don't shut me out. I want to help. I'll do anything you need. Anything."

Greg stumbled back a little with the surprise of Mycroft's lips forcefully meeting his. He gripped the back of the younger man's jacket and indulged deeply in the passionate kiss – it was more than he could have ever imagined.

"Gregory, I love you" Mycroft breathed as he broke the bond.

"I love too, Myc" Greg replied with a soft smile, and his heart skipped a beat when Mycroft smiled back.

* * *

"So, how did it go?" John asked when Sherlock returned later in the evening.

The detective took off his scarf and threw his coat down on the chair before picking up his violin.

"Mycroft has agreed that it is in his best interest to tell Lestrade everything" Sherlock informed him and started plucking at the strings of his instrument. It wasn't with the same dull rhythm as when he was bored, but more frantic, as if he were nervous.

John seemed to notice the change in pattern. "Everything will be fine, I'm sure" the doctor tried to encourage him. "Mycroft is strong, and Greg would never turn him away."

"Mmm" Sherlock mused as he stood by the window and looked out into the dark night.

"Well, I have to go to work" John informed him. "Unless… you preferred if I'd stay? I could just call Sarah…"

Sherlock was touched by his friends concern, but he could not let that be known, naturally.

"No, I'm perfectly alright." Sherlock said, and John nodded – he had learnt a long time ago there was no point trying to get the younger Holmes to change his mind.

John soon left and Sherlock was once again alone with his rapid trail of thoughts. He continued messing about with his violin until he was aware that someone else was in the room – it wasn't that often that he was so lost in his own head he missed something so obvious.

"Did you talk to Mycroft?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

The DI walked further into the room and nodded. Sherlock indicated to John's chair with his violin bow before sitting down in his own. Lestrade took a moment to settle himself before taking on a serious gaze at the younger Holmes.

"I wanted to say thank you" Lestrade said. "I'd suspected right from the start that Mycroft may have some kind of issue but…I didn't want to push him and it only felt fair for him to tell me on his own accord. However, I also get the feeling you may have offered a little guidance."

Sherlock smirked a little. "My, my, Lestrade, perhaps you aren't as slow as I had originally thought."

"Sherlock, trying to have a moment here" the DI replied with a serious look.

"Right. Well, there really is no need to thank me" Sherlock claimed. "Despite our differences and what other people may think, there really is nothing I wouldn't do for my brother."

Lestrade nodded in understanding. "Well I want you to know that I'd do anything for Mycroft too, and he knows that now."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "So, you see a future with my brother too?"

"Yes" Lestrade replied confidently. "I can't see myself with anyone else. Ever."

"Good" Sherlock said simply, and then went back to playing his violin - a much more well thought out tune now.

Lestrade took that as his queue to leave. Just as he was about to go through the door, Sherlock stopped playing abruptly.

"Oh and Greg…" the younger Holmes called after him. The DI looked startled at the use of his name correctly, but that was how he knew whatever Sherlock was about to say was deadly serious. "If you ever hurt my big brother, I will _end_ you."

"Kinda goes without saying" Greg assured him and then left.

Sherlock felt more at ease than he had in a long time.

* * *

It was a week later when Sherlock decided to pick up the phone and call Mycroft. The elder Holmes and Greg were lounging together on the sofa watching some old horror film Greg had insisted he needed to see. Mycroft was resting with his head on the older man's shoulder, a content smile on his face – he couldn't have been happier in that most simplest of moments.

"Hello, brother-dear" he greeted.

"Good evening" Sherlock said formally, but Mycroft wouldn't have it any other way. "How's the diet?" he asked.

"Fine" Mycroft said as he glanced up at Greg lovingly and his smile broadened. "Everything is absolutely fine."


End file.
